


Stay In The Feeling

by boulderuphill, TheSlavicShadow



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Also some fluff, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Canon, Rated M For Sex, Smoking, alcohol mention, gratitious use of taylor swift lyrics, if you find it you get a gold star, this started because of a Fletcher song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boulderuphill/pseuds/boulderuphill, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlavicShadow/pseuds/TheSlavicShadow
Summary: The sense of relief is short lived. Years ago Jean would have considered it a tiny miracle to be able to spend even a moment alone with Kevin. They would have leaned close together and spoken in quick French, eager to make the most out of every second without supervision.- Jean meets Kevin again and old feelings resurface.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Alvarez/Laila Dermott, Kevin Day/Jean Moreau, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Past Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau
Comments: 40
Kudos: 82





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by the wonderful [ElephantLoveMedley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElephantLoveMedley) and [Essence29](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Essence29)
> 
> this fic is the result of two strangers getting together, experiencing a shared fever dream and developing codependency issues while writing it. enjoy :)))

One of the downsides of staying in L.A. after graduation is that Jean doesn’t have an excuse at hand when he’s invited to PR events in the city. Other players can choose not to fly out, but when his main sponsors summon him, he’s expected to actually show up. Tonight is no exception. 

Not only has the Nike Sports Gala rented out one of the most luxurious hotels in L.A. and decorated it with black and white Exy action shots from the season. It has also gathered representatives from every major sport news network and publication. Somehow Jean has managed to get stuck with the most obnoxious of reporters, a man that has been interviewing him, Kevin and Riko since they were teens. It isn’t the first time he and Kevin are pushed in front of the cameras together since going pro, but it hasn’t gotten any less awkward since they left the Nest. 

“So, one last question just between us, as friends, of course.” The interviewer pauses, the dramatic kind that Jean has come to both expect and loath in interviews before giving them a perfectly trained smile. The mic is so close to his face that the ESPN logo, taped to the head of it, brushes against his chin.

“Are we gonna be seeing more of the remaining perfect court together again? Maybe some prep for a certain special event coming up roughly every four years?” 

Jean forces a laugh and sees Kevin do the same next to him. “Well, we can’t say for sure but,” he trails off mid sentence, waiting for Kevin to pick up where he left off, the Moriyama-sanctioned media training still deeply ingrained into them. 

“If it all works out as planned,” Kevin says without missing a beat. “You should be seeing the both of us on court in no time.” He gives the reporter his biggest media proof smile, showing off his perfect, white teeth. 

“And that’s a wrap. Thanks guys, this was great.” The crew pack up their equipment and the reporter turns back to them, now without his microphone. His face takes on a softer, more serious expression, one that isn’t suited for an upbeat interview. “I’m sorry the gala had to happen tonight, what with the anniversary and whatnot. Still, I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of your night.” 

“Thanks, we appreciate it.” For a moment Jean fears the interviewer will pursue the conversation further, but instead he gives them a final nod and hurries along the rest of the crew towards the group of rookies that have gathered by the stage. 

The sense of relief is short lived. Years ago he would have considered it a tiny miracle to be able to spend even a moment alone with Kevin. They would have leaned close together and spoken in quick French, eager to make the most out of every second without supervision. Now, they’re standing in silence, the very mention of Riko hanging heavy between them. Jean with his hands in his pockets, and Kevin correcting his already straight tie. 

A waiter passes them by, and Kevin is quick to grab two tall glasses of champagne from his tray. He hands one of them to Jean, and when Jean takes it his fingers brush against the back of Kevin’s hand. To anyone watching, the two of them must paint a perfect picture, dressed in expensive suits having expensive drinks at an expensive hotel. 

Jean sips his drink, but it does nothing to wash the bitter taste from his mouth brought on by the interviewer’s parting words. Next to him, Kevin is staring into the room with glassy eyes. If he can’t spend this moment alone, he doesn’t hate the idea of sharing it with Kevin. 

“What do you usually do today?” Jean can’t bring himself to say Riko’s name out loud. He isn’t sure if it’s for his own or Kevin’s benefit. The years passing and the many sessions he has spent with his therapist means Jean doesn’t actively think of Riko every day anymore. But there are still days that won’t let him forget. Riko’s birthday is one of them, and so is today, the date of his death. 

Kevin looks down at the drink in his hand. “I do what I’m good at. I play.” He looks up at Jean with an expression somewhere between wistful and sad. “You?” 

“I go for long walks, usually. Look at the sky. I try to be thankful that I got out. Jeremy took me to the beach my first year at USC.” His emotions surrounding Riko’s death have never been clean-cut. On good days they almost do not influence his life. On bad days, the smallest reminder of Riko will still cause a panic attack. But Kevin doesn’t need to know the details of his recovery. Honestly, Jean would rather talk about anything else. 

“Where is your date, anyway?” Kevin looks around the room, as if he might have only missed Jeremy in the crowd. The topic is only marginally more pleasurable than the previous one, but Jean will take what he can get. Plus, he has been expecting it. He hasn’t showed up to an event without his hand in Jeremy’s in so long it still feels strange, even to him.

“We broke up. Two months ago.” 

“Oh.” 

In any other situation it would have been funny to see Kevin at a loss for words. Before Jean can react to this unusual silence, Kevin reaches out and swipes his thumb over Jean’s ring adorned fingers in a well practiced gesture. In the nest it used to mean _are you okay_ when they couldn’t talk, when all they had were quick touches that could pass as accidental. 

Jean’s reply is a swift double-tap to Kevin’s thumb. It’s a silent _I’m fine._ Kevin raises an eyebrow at him. 

“You can, I mean, do you wanna talk about it?” Kevin takes another sip of his drink. His glass is almost empty, while Jean’s is still half full.

“Actually.” Jean downs the rest of his drink. “I want to get drunk.” 

“Lucky for us, this place has an open bar.” He taps Jean’s arm, encouraging him to follow, and maneuvers them to the large bar in the back of the room where they manage to snatch up two empty bar stools. 

They are two shots in each when Kevin speaks up, angling his body towards Jean. “I really am sorry about Jeremy. You seemed good together. Healthy.” 

It’s telling that _healthy_ is the biggest compliment Kevin comes up with.

“Healthy, huh?” Jean’s tone is teasing and if the light isn’t playing tricks on him, it makes color rush to Kevin’s cheeks. “But yes, we were. Sometimes, even when there’s nothing _wrong,_ it just - doesn’t work out.” The bartender puts down another shot in front of him, and he downs it. 

Maybe he’s emboldened by the alcohol, or by the novelty of finding himself in a context so achingly familiar, because he can’t stop himself from slipping into French. “What about you? Does the great Kevin Day even have time to date? I hear you’re well on your way to leading Phoenix to their first championship gold.” 

Kevin shrugs, hand resting on the bar counter with his fingers loosely wrapped around the shot. If he’s caught off guard by the question, he doesn’t let it show. “There was a girl a while back, but it never got serious.” It must be years since they last spoke French with each other, but Kevin’s accent is the same, almost perfectly mimicking Jean’s. 

The sound of it makes Jean’s chest tighten, like a memory long forgotten. The bar is crowded with other athletes and reporters and the music is so loud that Jean has to lean closer when he speaks. 

“I’m sorry it never became more,” he says and reaches out to brush his fingers against Kevin’s knuckles. Kevin imitates Jean’s previous motions, double tapping his fingers. 

“Don’t be. We both didn’t want it to be, anyway.” He brings the shot to his lips, downing it.

There aren’t many memories from Jean’s time at Evermore that makes him want to smile, but the lunches and dinners where he and Kevin were sitting just like this make the list. 

When Kevin speaks again, it’s in English.

"I watched your game against Washington," he says, playing with the empty shot glass in his hand. The lightness of the scars stand out against his brown skin.

"Of course you did." Considering Kevin's old habit of staying on top of not only the American Exy League, but also the Japanese and Irish one, Jean would be more surprised if he hadn't. 

"You don't favor your right as much anymore. It won you the game." 

Jean can't help but smile at the reminder of his old habit, formed in the Nest after countless hours of practicing with Kevin. When one blocks the same left handed striker for hours every day, it rewires one’s instincts. As dynamic as Kevin's playstyle is now, there used to be a time when, more often than not, he went for the same upper right shot. And because Exy is full of split second decisions, it’s easy to fall back on what you’ve practiced the most.

It could have become a liability to his team. He brought it up with Jeremy after a year with the Trojans, but Jeremy assured him that it was barely noticeable. It was more important to him that they focused on the team synergy, rather than for Jean to polish his already near perfect technique. Nevertheless, Jean worked on it until the instinct to always block the top right was little more than buzzing in the back of his mind. 

"I know," he says with a smirk. "But that doesn't mean I couldn’t beat you back then. Still can.”

“You wish.” There’s a smile tugging on the corner of Kevin’s mouth that makes something tighten in Jean’s stomach. 

A woman dressed in a Chanel dress suit with a matching purse walks up to them, typing on her phone with one hand as she taps Kevin’s shoulder with the other. “Your flight leaves in an hour. I’m calling you a car right now.” She doesn’t give Jean so much as a glance, not even looking up from her phone as Kevin answers. 

“You’re my agent, not my babysitter.” He shakes his head, but his tone is good natured.

“Sometimes I truly think you need both.” She’s walking away before Kevin can react, still typing furiously on her phone.

The illusion of privacy is broken, and Jean becomes acutely aware of the people surrounding them. 

"Right. I’m gonna get my bag." Kevin stands up with a sigh, his thigh brushing against Jean's when he turns to go. There is a slight sway in his first steps towards the cloakroom.

As if on instinct, Jean gets up to follow. He isn’t ready to say goodbye yet, enjoying their conversation too much to give it up so soon. 

“It was good seeing you again,” Kevin says when they’re alone in the small room. He picks up a black messenger bag and slings it over his shoulder before turning to face Jean. 

They have been even closer in places just like this countless times, Jean’s mind supplies. It lays out memory after memory, all of them blurring together until the only thing that remains distinct is the image of Kevin’s body pressed against his own. Warmth pools in his chest at the reminder of what they used to share. 

From where Jean is standing, less than two feet away from Kevin, it’s easy to make out all the things about him that haven’t changed at all over the years. It’s the same sharp lines and carved features, bags beneath his eyes as prominent as they were when Jean’s lips would ghost over them in the dark. 

_It was good seeing you too_ , he wants to say, and _I missed this_ , but the words feel as hollow as they always have when he speaks to Kevin. So Jean reaches for his hand again, less subtle now that they are alone, and repeats the touch from before. When Kevin answers with the double tap, Jean knows that he understands all the things he wants to say but can’t. 

Their hands linger. 

For the past years, every thought of Kevin has been pushed to the back of his mind. Now, it is as if the seal has been broken. He remembers everything. From the hesitancy of their first kiss to the desperation of their last. The way he would press his finger against Kevin’s lips and shush him when he got too lost in the fantasy of being in their own world. The way Kevin would practice his French by putting his mouth close to Jean’s ear and whisperingly repeat back every affirmation Jean had ever spoken.

When the slightest opportunity to touch presented itself back then, even if it was just a brush of hand against a back, they would both jump on it without hesitation. There would be no trembling or wasting time that could be spent feeling like someone out there wanted them close.

But now, the touch is cautious, just Kevin's thumb brushing over the back of Jean's hand. He moves his thumb over Jean’s rings, circling the one shaped like an eye, and covers the dark green iris of it. 

“They suit you,” he says, and when Jean flexes his fingers, Kevin's slot perfectly between them. 

Kevin takes a step forward, lessening the already small distance between them. Jean catches a whiff of his pinetree cologne, sees a glimpse of Kevin’s perfectly white teeth as he bites his lower lip in what looks like hesitation. Kevin squeezes his hand. Jean squeezes it back. 

The door clicks open. As if burned by Jean’s skin, Kevin lets go and takes a step back. The woman from before sticks her head into the room. “There you are.” She looks between Jean and Kevin. “Your car is outside.” 

She’s gone as quickly as she appeared, leaving the door open with a view of the empty hallway outside.

As aware as Jean was of their closeness before, the excessive distance they’ve now placed between them feels even more palpable in the small room. His own hand is still very obviously not resting by his side, suspended in the air where it was holding onto Kevin’s seconds ago. Kevin’s is hidden in his pocket, his shoulders stiff and pulled up. 

“She seems nice,” Jean says in a way that sounds like a poor imitation of casualness, even to himself. 

“She’s something, for sure.” Kevin sounds strained too, watching the hallway rather than Jean as he speaks. “I guess I’ll see you around,” he says, and when he hurries past Jean his fingers brush against the side of his thigh.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter tw: joking about torture/abuse (if you want the specific place or a summary of the chapter, feel free to ask in the comments)  
> hope everyone is doing well and staying safe <3

Over the course of the next day, he replays his conversation with Kevin at least a hundred times. They haven’t spoken as friends since Kevin left the Nest, and those years were enough to make Jean forget how much he actually likes the person Kevin is outside of the media and the public attention. He had also forgotten how much relief their hidden touches would bring, and now his mind won’t stop recounting all the other ways they used to bring each other comfort. If they hadn’t been interrupted by Kevin’s agent, he’s not sure where the night would have taken them. 

The thoughts stay with him for the rest of the day, and when he wakes up the next morning it is with the memory of a dream where Kevin’s lips were pressed against his own. It makes it impossible to concentrate on anything else. All he’s able to do is pace up and down his apartment, powerless to the way his mind reminds him of what he could have had if things had happened just a little differently.

Eventually, he gives up and calls Renee. 

She picks up after the fourth ring. “Jean, hi.” As always, just the sound of her soft voice is enough to make his brain quiet down, just a little bit. He drags his hand over his face and sighs.

“Do you think you can get a concussion from thinking too much?” He fiddles with one of his rings, a large silver one that stacks on top of a thinner one in faded gold. 

“I don’t think so, no.” Renee sounds as if she suppresses a small giggle. “What are you thinking about?” 

“You know how, before I started dating Jeremy, I mentioned I was over Kevin?” Jean scratches at his neck and ducks his head, regardless of the fact that Renee can’t see him. 

“I think, if I remember correctly, your exact words were ‘I’m definitely, completely over Kevin’ while we were watching him trip over his own feet.” The smirk is audible in her voice. Jean can still recall their shared laughter over Kevin’s exhaustion getting the better of him after a long, drawn out game between the foxes and trojans. He remembers how Kevin gave into the fatigue, falling down into an undignified mess of sweaty limbs and staying on the ground. 

“Yeah, upon further reconsideration that might not be a hundred percent true, actually.” He says, waving a hand in the air around him. “I saw him at the gala and just, I feel awful.”

“Do you feel awful because something happened?” There is no trace of the previous, joking tone in Renee’s voice. Instead she sounds concerned, and Jean is reminded how lucky he is to have her as a friend.

“No. God, no.” Jean flinches at the thought. “It’s just. _Jeremy_ , you know. I couldn’t do that to him.” 

“Jeremy will survive you being interested in other men, Jean.” Renee’s tone softens again, and Jean imagines her sitting cross legged in the fancy apartment she shares with Allison. “Even men like Kevin.” 

“I know he will, I just don’t want to hurt him more than I already have. And if I was never over Kevin, does that mean-” He sucks in a deep breath, but the words have already been spoken. He squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on not letting the guilt bleed into his voice, but Renee speaks before he’s able to finish. 

“Does that mean you were never really in love with him?” His heart plummets. If possible, it sounds even worse coming from Renee. He makes a sound that’s supposed to be affirmative, but sounds like little more than a pained whine. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, Jean. I know you, and you were in love with Jeremy. Just because your feelings for Kevin are different doesn’t mean they’re better.” 

“So, you don’t think I owe Jeremy an explanation?” 

“No. But if you’re this worried about it, you should just talk to him.” 

“And tell him what? That I maybe want to be with Kevin?” His heart stings, though he isn’t sure why. Despite all the confusion, the taste of what it might be like to have Kevin back in his life is better than not having had him there the last few years. 

“You just need to talk to him. To Kevin too, actually. Trust me, it’ll work out. It always does.” 

In that moment Jean wishes he had what Renee has. A steadfast belief in God, or the universe, or anything. All he has is a shaky recovery, a therapist who likes to remind him that healing isn’t linear, and now Kevin. Maybe. 

*

It's less than a week until they see each other again. 

L.A. plays Phoenix in one of the closest games of the season. Despite Kevin's tireless attempts at offensive plays and the deafening cheers from the home crowd, L.A. just barely manages to end up on top.

After the game, Jean's body is aching and his head is throbbing with the telltale sign of a headache but any discomfort is overshadowed by childish pride. After years of being forced to abide by the Raven hierarchy, not being limited by the number on his cheek still tastes like the sweetest form of freedom. 

Jean hears Kevin before he sees him, leaning against the wall in the hallway between the locker room and staff exit. Even without the expensive suit, wearing a faded team hoodie with the hood pulled up, he looks just as good, if not better, as he did when they last saw each other. 

He’s on the phone with someone, brows knitted tightly together, and when Jean stops in front of him, not much further apart than they were in the coat room, Kevin gives him a haphazard wave.

“...and if your defense had done their jobs and actually held their line you could’ve won eas-”

Kevin takes the phone from his ear and frowns at it. “And now he hung up on me,” he says and pockets it with a sigh so deep that Jean can’t help but snort at him. 

“Minyard?” he asks, lifting his eyebrow. 

“Yeah, they lost this morning. Which wouldn’t happen nearly as often if Andrew would start listening to me.” 

“Well, maybe you need to take your own advice, since you also lost tonight.” Jean anticipates a defensive comeback in the style of the Raven sanctioned trash talk.

Instead Kevin gives him one his rare real, slightly lopsided smiles. “I was up against some hard competition. Unlike Andrew, you actually utilize both your training and talent.” 

Jean rolls his eyes. “It’s been thirty minutes since the game ended, and you’ve already analyzed the whole game? Some things never change.” 

The door to the Away-locker room opens, and the rest of Jean’s team well into the hallway. They’re shouting and laughing, buzzing with the kind of excitement that only a win can bring. 

Miller, the team’s goalkeeper and captain pauses in front of them. “Yo, Moreau,” he says with a large grin, “you coming back to the hotel with us?” His eyes land on Kevin, and it’s possible to make out the exact moment he realizes who he is standing in front of. His eyes widen, cocky smile slipping as his mouth falls open. 

Jean suppresses an eyeroll and sends a surreptitious look in Kevin’s direction to gauge his reaction to the question. Kevin answers with a barely noticeable raise of his eyebrows. 

“No. I’m going out with Kevin.”

“Yeah, there’s this bar I’ve been meaning to check out,” Kevin adds without missing a beat. 

“Alright.” Miller nods. “Have a good night you guys. It was nice playing you, Day.” He gives Kevin once last, lingering look before hurrying after the rest of the team. Before he’s out of hearing range, Jean slips back into French.

“You know they always have that same moronic look on their faces when they see you,” he says and gives Kevin a nudge with his elbow. Kevin doesn’t laugh, just groans at what Jean is sure is an observation he has already made himself. “Though that’s usually before your winning personality comes through, of course.”

“Of course?” An almost smile in the corner of Kevin’s mouth teases Jean, and he can’t help but keep pushing to see if he can lure it out. 

“Of course. Also, ‘a bar you wanted to go check out?’ Please. Don't act like you've even ventured outside of the block you live on other than for exy."

He’s successful, and adds the way Kevin shakes his head to hide the guilty smile to his collection of victories for today. "Fair,” Kevin says. “But in my defense, it is a nice block."

“Maybe you should show it to me, then.” Kevin’s eyes widen, travelling quickly from Jean’s mouth to his chest to his hips and back up again. In the second it takes him to answer, Jean’s heart falls further and further. They used to be perfectly attuned, but perhaps it’s wishful thinking that has made it seem like they still are. Maybe Jean has misunderstood what is merely the touch of a friend. 

“My personality hasn’t made you run for the hills yet?” Kevin says it so casually, as if the wait hasn’t made Jean question where they stand ten times over. Jean shakes his head, mouth forming the _No_ , but letting out little more than a breath. 

Kevin reaches down and grabs his bag, throwing it over his shoulder. Jean follows him outside, all the way over to a sleek black car whose model Jean recognizes from Kevin’s most recent sponsor deal.

“You know this car is far too gorgeous for someone who can’t tell a cayman from a panamera, right?” Jean runs his hand over the hood of it, admiring the craft behind the beautiful design. 

“Next time I’ll turn them down. Maybe they’ll ask you then.” It’s only when they’re alone that Kevin shows his wicked smile, almost on the side of rude. It feels personal in a way that his other, more media appropriate, smile doesn’t.

There are other sides of Kevin that he only shows when they’re alone. Jean remembers them from the Nest, distant like a dream. If he goes with Kevin now, there will not be an agent throwing the door open, or team members passing by. They will have all night to finish what they started a week ago.

His racing thoughts are interrupted when Kevin chucks the keys at him. “You’re driving,” he says, and gives Jean a pat on the shoulder as he passes him by and lowers himself into the passenger seat before fiddling with his phone. 

The car comes to life with a soft purr when Jean starts it. It’s even more responsive than his own car, accelerating at the slightest touch of the pedal.

They spend the short drive listening to Kevin’s playlist, a terrible mix of old and current top 40 hits. When a Coldplay song comes on, Jean can’t suppress a groan. “I can’t believe you’re subjecting me and the car to this. This is worse than torture, and I mean heavy torture. Like waterboarding.” He pauses for a dramatic moment. “And I would know.” 

Kevin loses all composure, drowning out the song with his laughter. The ability to laugh about all the trauma and heaviness is a rush of freedom Jean doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you laugh like that.” He takes his eyes off the road to look at Kevin. “It’s nice.” He’s not sure if he means the laughing, the car ride, or them simply being in the same space, but it’s true nonetheless. 

Kevin’s laughter quiets down but the trace of it still lingers in the air between them. 

During one of the red lights Jean reaches for Kevin’s hand and entwines their fingers, tracing patterns with his thumb on the back of Kevin's left hand. The scarring stands out on Kevin’s otherwise smooth skin. Kevin smiles, lifting their clasped hands and pressing a featherlight kiss to Jean’s crooked fingers, lips ghosting over knuckles that never healed properly. 

“This is it,” Kevin nods towards a building so tall that Jean has to crane his neck to see the top of it. Outside of the entrance is an older man dressed in a three piece suit, and a Valet hurries to take the car off their hands. 

Along Kevin’s large hallway stretches a print of a Basquiat piece that Jean would recognize anywhere. 

“Ishtar is my favorite of his.” He nods at the blue and white, vivid against the grey walls of the otherwise empty hallway. 

“It’s the colors, right?” Kevin’s voice is closer than he expects, and when Jean turns his head he finds Kevin peering over his shoulder. 

“So, do you want me to give you a tour?” Kevin asks, taking Jeans jacket and hanging it up.

Kevin’s kitchen is like something out of a catalogue, all stainless steel and spotless surfaces. In the middle of it is a kitchen island with bar stools along the side, and Kevin leans against it when he speaks. 

“Do you want something? Coffee?” He nods towards the state of the art coffee machine that’s standing next to the sink, looking so shiny and new it might as well be untouched. Jean shakes his head. He takes a step towards Kevin, heartbeat rushing when Kevin doesn’t shift or pull away. They’re close again. Closer than the hallway. Closer than the coat room. Moving closer with each moment until Jean has to angle his face so their noses do not bump against each other. 

They don’t kiss at once. 

First they hover with their heads tilted and mouths so close that Kevin’s breaths against Jean’s lips send a shiver through parts of him he didn’t know existed anymore. For a week he has been able to think about nothing except what it would be like to have this again, and the prospect of finally being granted it fills him with fire. He reaches for the back of Kevin’s head, but Kevin is quicker. When his fingers find Kevin’s hair, short and soft in the back and stiff with product further up, they are already kissing.

At first it’s all teeth. Jean doesn’t dare close his eyes, and from this angle Kevin’s queen piece tattoo looks almost the same as the number two did. The sounds are the same too, his own jagged breathing and Kevin slipping into quiet moans when his fingers dig into Jean’s thighs.

Kevin’s hair is too short to get tangled in, so letting it go in favor of gripping his hips instead is easy. The motion is familiar enough to make Jean desperate to experience even a fraction of the sensations his body remembers. Beneath the soft fabric of Kevin’s hoodie, he presses his palms against the same edges he used to trace in the dark years ago. 

“I missed this,” Kevin mouths. 

Jean moans and deepens the kiss until Kevin is firmly pressed between him and the counter. There are hands everywhere, squeezing and stroking and only lingering when they begin to make quick work of Jean’s buttons. As much as Jean tries to remind himself that they have all night, he finds that his own touches are just as rushed.

He runs his hands up along Kevin’s torso, bringing the hoodie and the shirt beneath with them. Kevin raises his arms over his head, and when the hoodie falls to the floor next to them it leaves his hair disheveled and his chest bare. The sight makes Jean pause, mouth falling open as a hitched breath escapes it. 

Kevin brings his arms down again, but instead of reaching for Jean he begins to fumble with his own pants. While he works, Jean grips the edge of the counter, one hand on each side of Kevin’s hips, and leans forward. As he runs his tongue along Kevin’s ear, he’s rewarded with a moan, urging him to keep going.

Jean’s mouth travels further down Kevin’s throat as he gets on his knees, planting kisses along the way where the lines of Kevin’s muscles are most prominent. Kevin’s briefs do little to hide his excitement, and Jean feels himself straining in much the same way.

His head is level with Kevin’s hands, which are gripping the counter so hard that the knuckles are whiter than the scarring. When Jean presses his lips against the hand it relaxes. Long fingers let go of the edge and instead move to cup Jean’s cheek. The thumb brushes over the edge of Jean’s eyebrow, right below his piercing. 

“Do you like it?” Jean angles his head so his lips touch the edge of Kevin’s palm in half of a kiss. 

“I do.” Kevin’s hand slides further back, giving Jean’s head a soft push forward.

“That much, huh?” Jean says and looks up to find Kevin wearing an almost sheepish smile. But he obliges, because putting his mouth on Kevin feels like the best idea he has had in years. 

As he mouths at Kevin through his briefs, he’s treated to all the little sounds Kevin can’t keep in. Fingers tangle in his hair, but they don’t tug. Not even when Jean grabs at the back of Kevin’s thighs, eliciting a bitten off moan from above and Kevin’s hips bucking forward in a motion so short and jagged it must be involuntary. 

“Is this payback for the music?” Kevin’s voice is breathy already, and Jean can’t help but think about what he will sound like later, if he will be loud like in Jean’s old fantasies now that there is no fear of being overheard. 

“This is your idea of payback?” Jean can’t help but laugh as he plants a kiss on the skin above Kevin’s briefs before pulling them down. Kevin sucks in a sharp breath, and Jean looks up at him, knowing full well what kind of image he is creating.

Even from this angle Kevin’s body looks like it could have been chiseled from marble, all sweat and muscles and taut skin. Maybe he stares for a second too long, because Kevin’s mouth curls into a smirk.

“Take a photo, it’ll last longer.” 

“Yeah, but it’s okay,” Jean bites playfully at his thigh. “We can’t all have good stamina. At least you’re pretty.” 

“I guess I walked right into tha-, _fuck._ ” Jean doesn’t look up, as much as he’s dying to see the look on Kevin’s face. It’s been a while since he last gave head, but the heavy feeling against his tongue and the noises Kevin makes quickly remind him of why he likes it so much. 

When the moans settle, Jean bobs his head even more, trying to elicit a bigger response. It becomes a game, trying to find the motions that make Kevin weak and loud despite himself. 

Some parts of it are familiar. The salty scent. The motion of Kevin’s hips. The bitten off profanities when Jean finds the perfect angle. Other parts are new, like the light being on, so Jean can look up and see more than blurred motions in the dark. 

Although, when Kevin’s pace picks up, there is little time to look up and take in the sight. His motions stay just on the right side of rough, all the while his hand rests against the back of Jean’s head.

“Don’t stop.” Kevin’s words are barely distinguishable over the sounds of their bodies. It’s simply too tempting, so Jean leans back until he can talk freely. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that?” He says while stretching his jaw. The expression of disbelief on Kevin’s face mixes beautifully with his blissed-out state. For a couple of blessed seconds, Jean gets to witness him being at a loss for words.

Of course, it doesn’t last long.

“Fuck you,” Kevin says, and it’s obvious the haziness of being close to the edge has brought him far from the clever retorts he usually manages. 

“Maybe later, if you’re lucky.” Jean grins, and before Kevin has time to move he leans forwards and takes as much of him into his mouth as he can manage. He is rewarded with a broken “ _God_ ”, as Kevin’s body slumps back against the counter. 

Kevin’s motions grow as erratic as his breaths. His hand slides from the back of Jean’s head to his shoulder and he clutches at it, hard. There is power in the moment before he comes, and Jean relishes in being the one who controls it. 

A choked off sound. Kevin bucking into Jean’s mouth. He only manages to stay upright for a couple of seconds, sliding down along the counter until he is on the floor, landing across from Jean. His eyes are hazy, his entire body relaxed in a way that’s only possible after an orgasm.

Jean rolls back up on his feet, but before he's able to get up, Kevin pulls him down again. Large hands go straight for Jean’s hips, palming him through the fabric and fumbling with the fly. If he hadn’t been painfully aware of Kevin’s effect on him already, this would have reminded him. 

His hand is larger than Jean remembers it, but it still wraps perfectly around him and moves at a pace that renders Jean helpless. All he can do is gasp, bury his face in Kevin’s hair, and spend every ounce of his self control to not call out that this has always been the best thing in his life.

When he comes Kevin doesn’t pull away. His hand moves with the jerky motions of Jean’s hips. The kiss is ruined by them both being at a loss for breath, but neither of them break it for a long time.

  
He stays the night, curled up with Kevin’s chest pressed against his back in the large bed. Heavy breaths against his neck lull him half to sleep, all the while reminding him what a luxury it used to be for them to lay like this even for a couple of hours. _It still is_ , he reminds himself, and tries to stay awake a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kevjean songs of the day are: death by a thousant cuts - taylor swift, and it's hard to be human - kina grannis


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy and drink some mulled wine maybe <3

They hook up again during the off season. 

*

And again.

*

And again, until it becomes a habit. 

*

Months later, when there’s a knock on Jean’s hotel room at one A.M, he knows without opening who is on the other side. 

“Thought you were taking the flight home tonight?” Jean says as a considerably drunken Kevin plops himself down on the bed. 

“Wanted to see you.” It’s more of a drunken slurring than anything close to English but Jean has gotten used to deciphering it over these past months. 

“And yet you barely looked at me all night,” Jean feigns a sigh filled with pretend-hurt and longing. In truth, they had both been busy all night with the more annoying parts of their job, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries and listening to people talk about their dog and kids for an evening. He expects a snappy reply, but Kevin’s voice is void of humour when he answers.

“I am, now,” he says. And he is. Jean turns to find Kevin staring at him, studying him.

In this moment Jean tries to see the Kevin Day everyone else sees; the tattoo, a reminder of who he is, the scars on his left hand, showing what he overcame. And while those are all parts of him, Jean also sees more. 

He sees the alcohol stained red cheeks, the bold glow in his eyes that lets Jean know Kevin is aware of his staring. He takes Kevin in and tries to commit every little detail of him to memory. The way his brows draw together when he concentrates, the minute shifts of his mouth, the way his long eyelashes frame his eyes, the small up-and-down jiggle movement of his leg that used to drive Jean crazy when he was trying to study or sleep. 

He catalogs every facet and lets his gaze unashamedly wander down Kevin's body. Kevin's arms are on display and Jean gets the usual urge to bite and kiss at the exposed skin. Before he can act on it, Kevin leans in and captures his lips in a drunken kiss. The taste of vodka is still fresh, recent as if Kevin came straight from the bar. Maybe he did, the voice at the back or Jean's mind supplies before he stops thinking all together, kissing Kevin back with everything he has. 

Their kisses are full-bodied, Jean leaning heavily onto Kevin and using the few inches he has on him to crowd Kevin against the headboard. Kevin tangles his hand in his hair, running his fingers through it and making Jean moan into his mouth at the sensation of the touch. 

It’s partly a trust thing for them, Jean letting Kevin touch his hair, knowing he would never pull on it the way others have. Before he can get lost in bad memories, Kevin bites down gently on his lower lip, as if he knows Jean needs to be brought back to reality. 

“We’re good,” he feels more than hears Kevin whisper against his lips before travelling down his face, leaving sloppy kisses on his jaw and throat. 

He puts his mouth where his fingertips were seconds ago and sucks at Kevin's skin. He leaves a trail of redness where neck meets shoulder and draws soft moans from Kevin who relaxes more with each kiss and featherlight touch. 

His mouth has just reached the outline of Kevin's left collar bone, protruding through the cotton fabric, when Kevin stirs against him. Jean looks up and finds Kevin's dazed eyes, cloudy with alcohol and lust. 

“What?” Jean takes a bit of the fabric between his teeth, just for show. 

Kevin swallows. 

"Let's switch,” he says, and runs his tongue over kiss-swollen lips. Nothing Kevin says is ever a question, but the underlying tone asking for his permission is not lost on Jean. 

_“_ How could anyone say no to that?” The mocking tone earns him a groan and a playful jab in his ribs from Kevin as they switch places.

Jean lies back, resting against the headboard, and takes in the perfect view of Kevin on his knees on the bed, settled between Jean’s legs. When he leans forward it seems like he is the taller one, towering over Jean and pressing their foreheads together.

Kevin's eager hands find their way to the buttons of Jean's shirt. In their fumbling they pull him closer, lacking the finesse of someone sober.

"Need some help with that?" Jean doesn't try to hide his amusement at Kevin having to lean back in order to see what he's doing. 

"No." The curtness of Kevin's reply makes it sound more instinctive than considered. 

For a moment, Jean just watches how Kevin's scarred and unmarred hands both move together to work his shirt open. He leans into the touch when palms press against his chest and slide the shirt off his shoulders. 

Kevin drags his mouth along Jean’s scarred torso and works himself further down until he’s level with Jean’s hips. 

The first time they did this all those years ago it brought a rush of power so big Jean still remembers it. 

The great Kevin Day, falling on his knees in front of Jean Moreau, was not something that was supposed to happen.

But it did, and surely by now the sight should have grown old.

Yet, the way Kevin works Jean's pants open before he's even fully settled, how his breath hitches at the sight of Jean's hardness through the underwear, and how his back arches when he leans down still makes Jean's heart race.

Kevin takes Jean into his mouth with the eagerness of someone starving. It's erratic and hungry, making Jean reach for Kevin's head just so he can try steadying the motions. 

“Easy, Kev,” Jean sinks his fingers into Kevin’s hair pulling his head back slightly, so Kevin has to crane his face up to look at Jean.

It’s a rush, getting to do this, to have Kevin on his knees begging for him.

“Didn’t you eat at dinner?” He says with his hand still gripping Kevin’s hair. Kevin snorts, and Jean looks down at where he’s got him pliant, before guiding him back down again.

This time Kevin is able to keep a slower, steady pace that has Jean closing his eyes, getting lost in the sensation of it. Through the fabric of his pants, Kevin's fingers are digging into his thighs. His own hand, the one not buried in Kevin's dark curls, grasps at the bedsheets. 

He never lasts long when Kevin is like this, and tonight is no exception. He comes, and is treated to the second best thing about having Kevin’s insatiable mouth around him. Because in the moments after, Kevin leans back with his lips still swollen and shiny, parted as he catches his breath. He looks hazy, like he has given it his all, but Jean knows that all he needs to do is reach for him and palm the hardness that is aching between Kevin’s legs by now in order to get him going again. 

Kevin gasps at the touch, falling back onto the bed as Jean climbs on top of him, eager to return the favor.

*

The hotel balcony has a view of one of the larger city streets, and at this hour it’s still only beginning to wake up. Jean pulls a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lights one, and inhales deeply. It’s mornings like these that make evenings full of parties, interviews, fake smiles, and insincerity worth it. 

Smoking has been forbidden in the Nest, and at times it had been the only small act of rebellion he could muster. It had been the one way he could exert some semblance of control over his body, worth the dark looks, shoves, and black eyes it got him when Riko smelled the lingering smoke on his breath or clothes. 

Normally, smoking in the morning feels like a blank slate, but while Jean inhales and tries not to think about last night, his mind still keeps going back to it. The West Coast Exy Gala invited every major professional team on the West Coast to celebrate the new season. To most guests, it had been a chance to see old and new friends, and get unbelievably, incredibly wasted. 

Images pass by his mind like flashes; Kevin sitting first with his team and then once Minyard arrived with his team, next to him instead, greeting one starstruck player after the other while steadily downing drinks. Jeremy, sitting between two of his teammates before Jean decided to fuck propriety and get him a drink. They were friends before they dated and there is no reason why that has to change. After that, Jean spent most of the night having surprisingly easy conversation with Jeremy and sneaking what he hoped were subtle glances at Kevin. 

Kevin, who is probably slowly waking up in Jean’s bed, hair tousled from sleep and sex. Kevin, who Jean left in his bed because he couldn't stand the domesticity without doing something stupid like trace the shape of Kevin’s face with his fingers or card them through his hair. Kevin, who he’ll see at breakfast in a bit, along with Jeremy and their teams. He exhales the last drag of his cigarette, flicking the ashes over the railing, letting them rain down below. He watches their path for a bit before his eyes settle on the sky above. 

He is lighting his second cigarette when the balcony doors behind him slide open to let out what Jean assumes is another early morning smoker. 

It’s only when he feels a presence settle next to him that he lets his gaze wander to the side. His eyes land on Minyard’s face and he suppresses a sigh. There’s only a handful of people he would hate seeing more this early. 

Minyard looks at him, eyes steady, unmoving before deliberately pulling out a cigarette from the packet in his jacket and lighting it. 

“I don’t like when people touch things that are mine,” he says and takes a first, long, drag of it.

Jean lifts an eyebrow. “Thanks for this enlightening tidbit of information.” 

The silence settles between them. Jean glances at Minyard and finds him studying the glowing end of his own cigarette. He twists it between his fingers in a motion almost hypnotic, and Jean can’t help but let his eyes linger. 

There was a time when Riko caught him smoking. One of the first times Jean tried it at all, before he knew he had to do it before practice, so the sweat and post-practice shower would wash most of the scent off. In Riko’s own words, he hadn’t been angry, just disappointed that Jean would do something like that to a body that did not even belong to him. Jean still wears the mark of his disappointment, a near perfect circle indistinguishable among the countless other scars on his left arm. He swallows the urge to reach for it, to see if he’s able to make it out by touch. 

“You don’t own him,” he says instead. “He can spend his nights however he wants.” 

“A moth will chase the flame until it’s consumed by it.” The glow on Minyard’s cigarette brightens when he takes another drag of it. “We have a deal,” he says.

“You _had_ a deal.” Jean can’t help but look at Minyard’s short, stubby fingers.“Kevin doesn’t need your approval or permission for anything. Not anymore.” 

He stubs out his cigarette and leaves Andrew behind. 

*

Breakfast is slow. Jean is stealing bits and pieces of Jeremy’s croissant to dunk it into his second cup of coffee when Minyard joins them. He picks a seat next to Kevin, not giving Jean as much as a glance.

“You smell like smoke.” Kevin doesn’t look up from where his head is resting on the table, but Jean imagines he wears the same disgusted look on his face that he did when he scolded Jean similarly earlier. 

“Yes, it’s the smoking.” Minyard reaches for his own coffee and dumps enough sugar in the cup to open ten bakeries. Jean physically restrains himself from shuddering at the sight and, out of the corner of his eye, sees Jeremy looking equally concerned. By the time Minyard is putting his fifth spoonful of sugar into his coffee, Kevin forces his face up.

Kevin throws Jean a weary look, one that insinuates that this is a discussion they’ve had several times. "I’ve told you that you should quit," he says, sounding as tired and hungover as he looks.

Minyard follows Kevin’s glance in Jean’s direction. 

"I don't think you want to play the game of casting light on bad habits, Kevin,” he says, but Kevin keeps going with a steadily growing annoyance.

"It’s not just a bad habit. Smoking drastically lowers your lung function and capacity. Even as a goalkeeper, quitting would improve your game.” 

"Do you direct these lectures towards everyone affected? Or does one of us get off the hook because you go faintly tapping at his chamber door at night?"

Kevin's face loses some of its color. It takes Jean a second to pick up on the reference, but when he does, his stomach turns.

Some of the Ravens had enjoyed quoting the poem that their team had gotten its name from, but it was usually the iconic _/Nevermore/_ line that they recited. This line is from the earlier part of the poem, when the raven taps on the narrator's door like a ghost from the past, begging to be let in.

Jean throws a cautious glance at Jeremy, who is looking in Kevin and Andrew’s direction with his mouth tightly pursed. The idea of him finding out like this has Jean's stomach in knots, and he curses himself for not speaking to him earlier. 

The rest of the table has quieted down, and Jean notices Kevin's eyes bouncing between himself, Andrew and the rest of the room.

"Don't do this," Kevin says, lower than his usual assured tone. 

"Funny." Minyard says, without even the hint of a smile. He takes a sip of his coffee and gets up. Kevin turns after him with such speed that he almost knocks over a glass with his elbow. 

"Where are you going?" 

"To smoke, Kevin. Unless you want to reopen the discussion you were so adamant about shutting down thirty seconds ago." 

Kevin sinks back into his chair. Jean tries to catch his eyes, but they're furrowed and dark, focused on the untouched plate of food in front of him. Just as Jean means to say something, anything, he gets up with a force that makes the chair screech as it drags along the floor. Kevin hurries after Minyard without as much as a glance in his direction, and Jean is left feeling like the audience of the world's most predictable play.

He turns back to face Jeremy. 

There’s hurt in his expression, but also concern. Jean was expecting a look of betrayal, maybe. He’s not sure which is worse. 

“Jeremy, look-” He has no idea where he wants the sentence to end, or even go when all of a sudden two of Jeremy’s teammates sit down next to him, as if flanking him. 

“Good Morning Jere, Moreau.” 

Jeremy starts up a conversation with them, and the moment is lost. Jean finishes the last of his coffee before getting up with a small nod goodbye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kevjean songs of the day are: same old by shy martin and maybe dont by maisie peters and jp saxe  
> in other news: isnt it funny that the car ended up in heaven and the angel in super hell :') <3


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shrugs and hands you some angst

Jean doesn’t get further than the hallway before Jeremy calls out to him from behind. “Jean, wait up.” Jeremy jogs up to him, so he slows his walk until they are side by side. “So, that breakfast was...interesting.” 

Jean can’t help but snort at that. _Interesting_. “Leave it to you to try and find a positive spin to this hell show.” He presses the button calling the elevator with unnecessary force.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Jeremy looks at Jean with his kind eyes and soft smile and Jean remembers why it was so easy falling for him. 

“Sure it wasn’t.” Jean doesn’t bother trying to hide the sarcasm from his voice as he gets on the elevator and holds the doors open for Jeremy. “I don’t understand how you can get along with someone like Minyard enough to have actual, normal, human conversations with him on a daily basis.” 

Jeremy chuckles. “I mean, we’re on the same team and I want to make captain soon, so I kind of have to get along with him, right?” He shrugs. “Plus, Andrew’s kind of funny actually.” 

“Funny? You can’t be serious.”

“Yeah. Like in a dark, brooding way. Kinda like you, I guess.” Jeremy’s smile is teasing, but there is honesty beneath it that Jean isn’t sure how he feels about.

“I think that’s the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me actually. And I’ve been called a lot of horrible things.”

“You’re such a drama queen, oh my god,” Jeremy gives him a playful nudge just as the elevator dings two stops before their floor. 

Jeremy turns to him, now serious. “Can we talk?” 

Jean’s nod is enough for Jeremy to hold the elevator doors open so they can step out. Jean follows after Jeremy who leads them to a small balcony where they settle on a bench. 

“So, about what Andrew said,” 

Jean interrupts him. “Jeremy, I - I’m sorry. We don’t need to do this right now. And you definitely didn’t need to hear that. Especially from Minyard.” 

It’s weak, as far as excuses go, but it’s all Jean has at the moment. 

“It’s fine, I’m a big boy, I can deal. Plus, I asked. So, it’s true, then? You and Kevin are?” He waves his hand in the air between them, leaving the sentence unfinished. A part of Jean wishes he hadn’t, just to hear himself and Kevin to be referred to as _something_. 

“I don’t know what we are. But we’re - something, I guess.” Jean reaches for Jeremy’s hand, still suspended midair, like he has so many times in the past two years. It’s soft and unmarred, nothing like his own. “I really am sorry.” He intertwines their hands, resting them on his thigh. 

Jeremy squeezes Jean’s hand and turns fully to face him. “Don’t be. I think we both know you never fully committed.” The usual brightness of Jeremy’s eyes is missing and his mouth is tightly pursed. “And I guess now we know why.” He shrugs but doesn’t let go of Jean's hand. 

It hurts to see Jeremy like this, so different from the person Jean got to know during his time with the Trojans. He searches for the words that will make things right, that will make it as easy for them to talk as it has always been. But the thing between them is so delicate, Jean doesn’t trust himself with it.

Eventually, Jeremy is the one to speak up, giving Jean a pained smile. “But, whatever it is you have, try and make it work. Don’t–, don’t push him away.” 

“How are you this _good_?” Jean sighs. “I mean, you’re out here telling your ex to go after another guy, who you’re friends with. Sometimes, I just, I don’t get you. Your kindness is staggering.” 

Jeremy huffs out a small laugh. “You know better than anyone that that isn’t fully true.” He gives Jean a meaning look, and Jean can’t help but roll his eyes. 

“Fighting with your boyfriend sometimes doesn’t make you any less good; it just makes you human.”

“I know, I know. But, I think I just want the people I love, people like _you_ , to be happy. However that looks like.” 

Jean gives him a smile, a real, small one. “I want that for you, too.” Then, before getting up, he cups Jeremy’s cheek and presses one soft, final kiss to his lips. “For what it’s worth, I love you, too.” 

*

After the conversation with Jeremy, relief settles in all aspects of Jean’s life. From the practices with his team going well, to his personal art projects turning out satisfactory. It also becomes a ritual for him to check his phone after each game, most of which he wins, awaiting Kevin’s harsh judgement with an almost kind of glee. Even when there aren’t moves to critique, their texts become a part of his day that Jean looks forward to. 

His phone lights up with a message from Kevin with an image attached. It’s a picture of a plate with what Jean realizes pretty quickly is Bouillabaisse. According to the symbol in the bottom corner, Kevin is still typing, but Jean calls him immediately.

“Look, I know I’m from Marseille and if you’ll tell anyone I’ll deny it, but Bouillabaisse is literally the grossest dish imaginable.”

“But you love seafood? And you’re a snob about it, too. Remember when we were at Red Lobster in very, very landlocked West Virginia and you asked if their crab was fresh?” 

“Exactly, I love seafood. Bouillabaisse is just fish stew with every seafood thrown in there all at once. There’s fucking sea urchin in there, Kev. Also, I would never eat crabs if they weren't fresh, so I still think I was in the right to ask. Just saying.” 

“Like I said, snob.” Jean can hear the teasing smile in Kevin’s voice. “Anyway, I thought it would remind you of home.”

“Well, in that case maybe I’ll just cook you Shakshuka the next time I see you. I’ll make it just like my mother used to.”

“When is the next time, then?”

“Friday? After my Vegas interview, if you don’t mind waiting up.”

“I don’t mind.”

*

In the light from the bedside lamp, Kevin’s torso glistens with sweat as he pulls his pants up and reaches for his shirt, discarded on the floor next to the bed. It was only minutes ago Jean dragged his tongue along those muscles, feeling every twitch of Kevin’s body. His breath has barely had time to steady, but his mind is already supplying him with which patches of Kevin’s skin he hasn’t kissed yet, what filthy words might make Kevin bite his tongue and stain his cheeks with color, and how satisfying it would be to feel Kevin’s body beneath him again.

“I’m going to Phoenix next weekend. Can I see you then?” Jean says in French.

Kevin pauses with his arms over his head, shirt sliding down to drape over his torso. 

“Andrew is going to be staying with me.” The American pronunciation of Andrew’s name stands out like a sore thumb in the softness of Kevin’s French.

It’s cruel, that even when they are alone, he is ever present. Just the mention of him sours Jean’s mood, and the words come out crueler than he intends.

“That’s a ‘no’, then? Because you still prefer pretending to him like this isn’t happening?” 

“Jean.” 

“What? He already knows, so I don’t understand why you fall all over yourself to try and keep him happy.”

“This hasn’t bothered you before.” _That isn’t true_ , Jean thinks with such suddenness and conviction that it surprises even himself.

“It doesn’t bother me,” he says instead. “I just do not understand it.” It’s close enough to the truth. When they are wrapped up together the words come easily, but now everything he wants to say dies in the back of his throat.

“He doesn’t understand either. Which is why it’s easier if we can just, not taunt him.”

“ _Taunt_ him?” Jean doesn’t know whether he should laugh or cry, so he just shakes his head in disbelief. “For fucks sake, Kev. Aren’t you exhausted? Because I am, and I’m not even the one walking on eggshells because my best friend hates my boyfriend.” The word just slips out, numbing his anger in the face of the sudden horror and embarrassment.

The perplexed expression on Kevin’s face is all the confirmation Jean needs, but as if that isn’t bad enough, he actually voices Jean’s fears as well. 

“ _Are_ we boyfriends?” 

“I thought we were, but apparently not.” The force of his feelings is enough to work as a catalyst for his already sizzling anger. “And thank god, right? I learned how much that’s worth years ago.” His face is burning, and seeing the shocked look Kevin gives him only makes it worse. It’s a low blow, to break the unspoken agreement to not bring up their time in the Nest. On an intellectual level, Jean knows that Kevin did not intentionally walk out on him; but right now he feels like a child falling for the same trick twice. 

“You don’t get to lecture me about loyalty,” Kevin says, disbelief replaced with something bitter. ”You were fine with how things turned out between us as long as you were seeing Jeremy.”

If Jean felt guilty about bringing up the past before, he doesn’t anymore. 

“You would know, right? Because you made so many attempts to reach out. Fuck off. You dumped me in L.A. and couldn’t bother with as much as a phone call.”

“The risk of you falling into old patterns was too big; you had to start over.” Kevin takes a sharp breath and adds: “I did too.”

“And look where that got us.” Jean gestures at his own half-naked body, at the unmade bed, at Kevin, standing with his pants still open. Kevin groans and grabs his belt from the floor with such force that it cracks in the air. 

“And Andrew’s already giving me a hard time about it,” Kevin says, treading the belt through the hoops while walking towards the hallway. “I don’t need it to get worse.” The bed squeaks beneath Jean when he gets up to follow, shivering from the press of his naked feet against the cold floor.

“How could it get worse? Do you know that he came to me and told me to stay away from you?” The way Kevin swallows is all the confirmation he needs. “Great. Perfect. And you were just fine with that?”

“He had no idea what your intentions were. He still doesn’t.”

“That isn’t _normal behavior_ , Kevin. I know Minyard did a lot of good for you, but even you have to see that isn’t right.”

“You’re not some authority on normalcy, and I don’t have to listen to this.” Kevin sticks his feet in his sneakers and grabs his jacket. 

“So, you’re going to leave instead.” Jean folds his arms over his chest. Not sure which answer he’s hoping for. “Because that’s what you do best.”

Kevin doesn’t hesitate. The door slams behind him, leaving Jean alone in the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kevjean songs of the day? pink skies by lany and sick of losing soulmates by dodie


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello this is the shortest chapter, hope you like it anyway <3

The traffic in L.A. is awful, and Jean hates the long drives as much as anyone. It’s a small miracle that he’s able to make it to USC in less than an hour, and that he ends up at the café before Alvarez even arrives. 

“Oh shit. You’re early. I was counting on traffic or, like, crazy fans so I could shower in peace.” Alvarez sits down across from him, grabbing her strawberry lemonade. Her hair has been cut shorter since he last saw her and the dark curls are still dripping onto her shoulders from her shower, leaving little water droplets behind that fall onto the dress she’s wearing. He spots a new piercing in her ear too, the silver glinting in the light. 

“I already ordered, hope you don’t mind. We’re having burgers, obviously.” The vegan burger at this particular café is pretty much the only reason they keep meeting here instead of off-campus. 

“As long as you pay,” she sips at the lemonade through the straw making the kind of undignified noise Jean would never dare. “You’re the one with the six figure salary.” 

“Only until next year, then they’ll also start paying you an obscene amount of money to do what you’ve been doing for free for years.” 

Alvarez snorts. “Yeah, right. I’ll never make as much as you do.” She’s right, in theory. Because of his fame he’s guaranteed a bigger paycheck, but the Moriyamas are still docking eighty percent of it. 

“Speaking of graduation.” He takes a bite of his burger and the explosion of flavor is definitely worth the miles he’ll have to run to work it off. “How are things going with Laila?” 

“Ugh. Being so far away from her is awful. I mean we pretty much lived in each other’s pockets the last 4 years and now she’s in Seattle and I’m here and it’s just. I miss her, I guess.” 

Jean nods, appreciating how his own troubles are drowned out by listening to hers. She aggressively dips her fries in ketchup before continuing. 

“And we rarely have time off at the same time and when we do it’s still on FaceTime or, like, calls. We really don’t get to see each other much. The last time I saw her was, like, three weeks ago?” 

Before Jean can answer, he’s interrupted by a weak voice behind him.

“Um. Hi.” It’s a young girl with a long, dark braid resting on her shoulder. In her hands she’s clutching her phone. “You’re Jean Moreau, right?” It’s a sign he’s spent too long in the US that he doesn’t even flinch at the butchered pronunciation of his name. 

“Yup, that’s me,” he says with a practiced smile and puts down his burger. 

“I’m a big fan. Would you mind taking a photo with me?” 

“Of course. Give me your phone.” He broadens the smile, showing some teeth, while he hands the girls phone to Alvarez and leans in close for the picture.

“Alright, ready?” Alvarez waits for their nods and snaps the picture, smiling before passing the phone back. 

“Thank you so much!” The girl bounces on her feet, pressing the phone to her chest and giving them both a shy smile before leaving.

“Seriously, you don’t even play here anymore.” Alvarez lets out a whiny sigh. “Give me your phone, I’m making an insta story to mooch some fame off of you.” She grabs his phone off the table and unlocks it. 

“Okay, can you at least pretend to like me and smile, please?” Jean makes his face as neutral as possible and then raises his hand to the camera, flipping Alvarez off. 

“Great, thanks. This will live on the internet forever now.” Just as she’s about to hand him his phone back, it lights up with an incoming text. 

“Why is Kevin Day texting you?” She asks before handing the phone over and Jean puts it in his pocket, leaving the text unanswered. 

Alvarez cocks an eyebrow and chucks a fry in his direction. 

He swats it away. “What?"

“I could never bring myself to ignore _the_ Kevin Day. But I guess some of us don’t need the extra exposure.” 

“You don’t need him either.” He gestures towards her phone, lying face up on the table, the screen lighting up with each new Instagram notification. “Clearly you have me for that.”

“True, and nice try, but you’re not getting off the hook that easily.” She leans closer, humor lost from her voice. “Seriously, do I need to be worried? I thought you guys weren’t talking unless it was about the whole, you know.” _The Moriyamas. Riko. The yakuza._ The unspoken words hang in the air between them. 

He waves her off dismissively. “It’s nothing like that.” 

Alvarez relaxes back into her seat. “Then why do you still look so, so…” In lieu of a word she gestures at his face. 

During moments like these, Jean hates that he let his walls drop when he got to USC. Letting people in had made him too easy to read. With the exception of Jeremy, Alvarez had been the Trojan he got closest to before graduating. Something about her no bullshit attitude had been refreshing when he had been thrown into a situation where everyone treated him with kid gloves. 

“It’s complicated,” he says, and tries to not have his expression reveal more than it already has. 

“That sounds like a Facebook relationship status.” 

“Well,” He looks away from her sheepishly and lets his gaze settle on her fingers tapping on the table. “We may have started hooking up.” 

Alvarez’s eyes widen and she opens her mouth in disbelief. “Wait, let me just. Okay. So you’re sleeping with Kevin Day? Which, wow, by the way not what I was expecting at all. But. What’s the issue then? The sex is not bad is it? That can’t be why you’re this weird.” 

“Weird? That’s the best you can come up with? And no. That’s not why, but thank you for your concern.” He rolls his eyes.

She nods with an expression so serious it’s almost comical. “Alright, and how long has this been going on?” 

“A couple of months.” 

“Months?!” The way Alvarez shouts draws the attention of everyone around them, and Jean immediately shushes her. 

“Yes. Now quiet down, _please_. I don’t need the entire campus to know.” 

“How the fuck did I not know? I mean. I read the gossip mags, Jean. Also. How did you not tell me? I thought we were friends.” She’s practically pouting now, sinking back into her chair and solemnly chewing on one of her fries. 

“I haven’t told you because nobody knows. And Kevin wants to keep it like that.” 

He must sound as pissed off as he feels because Alvarez’s reply is a simple “Oh.”

“Yeah. So now we’re sort of fighting. Maybe.” He picks up his burger again and takes a bite just to have something to do with his mouth that isn’t talking about this.

“Maybe? You left him on read.” 

“No, I didn’t.” He takes another bite, but by the time he has finished chewing the annoyance has built itself up again. “I mean, yes, I did. The whole thing is just strange.”

“Okay so – I’m just trying to catch up here but, basically you got in a fight over going public or not?” 

Jean sighs. “Not even that. I mean, Jeremy and I haven’t even been broken up that long, so I don’t necessarily need to go public and tell the rest of the world that I’m dating my way through star strikers.” As much as he knows that what he’s saying is true, he can’t help but think that, regardless of the media, it would feel nice holding Kevin’s hand walking down a street, kissing him in a grocery store aisle, and hugging him close after a game. 

“Who’s next on the list? Josten?” Alvarez can’t suppress a smirk, and Jean kicks her under the table. “Ouch! No, but for real. If you don’t even really feel the need to go public yet, then I don’t think I get the issue?”

“The main issue is that Kevin is too much of a coward to admit that there is an us.” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way but, is there a _you_? This isn’t just sex?” 

“It’s never been just sex. Even back in the Ne-“ he breaks off, but it’s too late.

“Oh my god. You guys hooked up back at Edgar Allen too?”

Jean nods. It’s too late to take it back now, anyway. “Yeah. We were sort of dating, I guess. Secretly, obviously. But essentially, yes. But then he left, and now it feels like there’s this huge divide between us because of everything that’s happened, you know?” 

“Not really.” She looks confused. “When Laila and I fight I usually have no idea where she’s coming from, so we yell for a bit and then we calm down and clear the air. It works for us. So if it’s just a communication thing maybe you guys just need to talk it out?” 

It’s good advice, in theory. 

“That’s the thing. The last time we saw each other we did that. And suddenly we were yelling at each other, which never happened before, by the way.” 

With a nod, she encourages him to go on. 

“And then we were both dragging up old wounds we weren’t supposed to open again. We haven’t talked since and I’m not sure where we stand. So that’s why I’m kinda – ‘weird.’” 

Alvarez looks at him with a sad expression in her dark eyes before she reaches out and grips Jean’s hand in a tight comforting hold.

“Wow. That’s, um, a lot. But I honestly think that it’s good and healthy that you’re dragging up those old wounds and working through your shit. It’s the only way you guys will ever have a chance. It also might just help you heal. Separately and together.” She lets go off Jean’s hand but her firm gaze doesn’t waver. “And, I’ll say it again, even if I know you won’t wanna hear it, but, talking is good. You need communication for a relationship to work, always. So just. Talk to him. I’m sure it’ll work out.” 

“I guess. Anyway, sorry for unloading on you.” 

“Oh, don’t worry, I mean you’ve had to listen to every single fight Laila and I have ever had in detail, so it’s only fair. Especially because you and Jeremy had that weird ‘don’t involve mutual friends in your fights’ thing going on so I could never return the favor. So while the circumstances kinda suck, I’m glad to be of service.” The smile she gives him is so genuine and warm that Jean instantly remembers why he loves most of the Trojans so much. 

“Thank you. Really,” he says and squeezes her hand. 

“Aw, Moreau, you’re gonna make me cry.” She lets go of his hand, empties some sugar from a nearby shaker on the table and traces a heart into it. It’s one of those hearts that’s done by drawing a ‘smaller than’ before a three. Back when they were still on the same team she would sometimes draw one next to the 3 on his face. 

He touches his cheekbone, tracing over the fading ink. He doesn’t often think about how different his life would be if he never escaped from the nest but it’s moments like these, sitting across a former teammate, talking about the serious and not so serious things that he remembers how much he's gained. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kevjean songs of the day are still the same by shy martin ft. boy in space and the most by miley cyrus


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter is here, and this sure has been something! thanks for sticking around <3

After a few more days of no contact with Kevin, Jean is on edge. He’s wired before the game against Oakland even starts, barely present during the pre-game, smiling and nodding along to his captains pep talk but not taking any of it in. Even the final team cheer doesn’t wake him and before he knows it he’s on the court, waiting. 

He closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Moves his racquet from right to left and back. 

The whistle blows.

At first, it’s good. The racquet sits securely in his hands and he wields it with confidence. Years of hard training and sleepless nights have turned him into someone who is, quite literally, built for this. He has the body and mind of the perfect exy player, and he still remembers how to use it. So he intercepts passes, runs up the right side of the backline, and helps set up scores. It’s all part of his usual domination of the back line. 

Until it isn’t.

He fumbles a pass, misses a shot, and missteps. 

When he should be worried about blocking his striker mark, all he can think about is another striker, probably sitting at home, listening to every word Minyard says. 

He fumbles another pass, and the opposing team scores. 

It’s not just him, the entire team is out of balance, but he is their strongest player and when he’s not at his best it impacts all of them. 

He’s called off court before halftime and replaced with another backliner. With a vicious motion, he tugs off his helmet and let’s it fall against the floor, enjoying the loud, angry sound it makes.

He runs a hand through his hair and over his face before emptying half a water bottle at once. When he looks up, Miller is walking towards him, tugging his gloves off. 

“Moreau. Are you okay?” He looks concerned rather than angry and Jean can’t help but think about what would have happened if he’d performed like this under Riko’s captaincy. He doesn’t need to use his imagination to come up with ways Riko would have punished him, the memories of being pushed down stairs and having his skin carved up still close at hand.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong, I think I may be coming down with something.” It’s as good a lie as he can manage right now. 

“Oh shit. You should go see Dr. Rogers later. And if you want I have some Advil in my locker.” 

Jean actually manages a smile at that. “No, thank you, but I promise I’ll go see him after the game.” He has no intention of seeing the team doctor, but if saying he will calms down his captain, he’s okay with that. He wishes the solution to his actual problem was as simple. He knows Alvarez is right, that it requires him talking to Kevin, but that alone feels like a herculean task. There is also a part of him, however petty, that wants Kevin to be the one to reach out. 

Luckily, one of Miller’s strengths is his tendency to not prod. He just sits down next to Jean and nods towards the court. “I don’t think we’ll win this one, do you?” 

As he says it, the opposing team checks one of the L.A. strikers against the wall, making her lose possession of the ball. It’s pure luck that it doesn’t cost them another goal.

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to not say these things and be encouraging or something.” 

Miller laughs. “You spent too long under Trojans captaincy, man. I’m allowed to say when we suck. Which we do.” 

Jean levels a look at him that says  _ We’re the second best team in the nation _ . 

“Okay, we don’t suck in general, just today, really. But you gotta admit that this,” he points in the direction of where their offensive dealer just fumbled a play, “is not fantastic exy we’re playing.” 

Jean lets out a strained laugh. “No. No, it’s not.” 

“We’ll redeem ourselves in no time, though.That championship title is ours.” With one last, large smile and a pat on the shoulder, Miller gets up to talk to some other teammates. 

Jean lets his shoulders sag a little. His phone is safely tucked away in the locker room. It’s game day for most teams in the league, and Kevin’s game started before Jean’s, so it should be over by the time he’s done. If they hadn’t been fighting, he would have been looking forward to the inevitable text about his efforts today. Instead, getting off the court will mean there is nothing left to distract him from how used he has gotten to having Kevin in his life, and how empty it feels without him.

*

After the game, the first thing Jean does is check his phone. There are notifications from his twitter and Instagram account, several frantic text messages from friends, his agent, and publisher. 

He opens the first twitter article he can find and - “Jean, are you okay?” 

Miller places a hand on his shoulder, but Jean doesn’t even register the question. He can’t bring himself to answer. All he can do is stare at the phone screen, transfixed. 

There’s a video from Kevin’s game. He’s cradling the ball in his racquet aiming a shot at the goal which Minyard narrowly catches and rebounds back to his team. Kevin jumps up, trying to intercept the pass when a backliner crashes into him full force and knocks him down. 

He’s on the ground and for every second he doesn’t move it gets harder for Jean to breathe. Then, there’s Minyard, furiously running at the backliner who’s the reason that Kevin is down. A punch to the face, and his own teammate is on the ground too, clutching a bleeding nose.

Minyard, now leaning over Kevin, is checking for injuries as the med team finally, finally arrives to stretcher him off court. The last thing the video shows is Minyard trailing after Kevin, not caring about the goal he leaves behind abandoned.

Jean’s in his car before he fully realizes it, calling his agent. 

“Jean, I saw on the news.” She has never treated him with kid gloves, always came right out with whatever she needed and it’s one of the many reasons why Jean likes her. 

“I need you to get me tickets to the next flight to Phoenix. And I need a car when I get there. Preferably something fast.” 

“Fast will be flashy, you know that. It’ll draw attention to you.” 

“I don’t care. Get me something fast. Have it waiting for me when I arrive, please.” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way but you sound crazy. Are you sure you want to drive? I can get you a driver.” 

_ It’ll be faster if I drive,  _ he wants to say but knows that would just further prove her case. “No, I’ll drive. I need something to do or I’ll go insane.” 

He’s already about to lose it during the drive to LAX. He tries calling Kevin’s cell but it goes straight to his mailbox. He tries again and again and again because the call only needs to go through one time for him to know that Kevin is alright. 

Finally, he takes a breath and calls Renee. She picks up after the second ring. 

“I need you to give me Minyard’s number.” He doesn’t give her a chance to say hello and usually he would feel bad about it but, – not today. “Please, Renee. Kevin isn’t answering and I need to know if he’s okay and what hospital they took him to.” 

“Yeah, Jean, of course. I’ll send you his number but I need you to take a breath. Where are you right now?” Renee sounds concerned. 

“I’m in my car on the way to the airport.” 

“You need to calm down, you won’t help anybody if you end up crashing your car.” 

She’s right, he’s sure, but Jean is too on edge to fully take in her words. He mumbles out a thank you before hanging up. He’s probably worried her now and he’ll feel bad about that later but for now he fumbles with his phone, one eye on the road. 

He thumbs out a text to Minyard. 

[Jean 18:13] This is Jean. What hospital?

He prays Minyard will reply quickly, already mentally planning what to do if he doesn’t, when his phone buzzes. 

[unknown number 18:20] Banner University Medical Center.

He doesn’t get more info than that and presses down on the gas pedal, hard. 

*

The car is sleek, black, and gorgeous. Under any other circumstances Jean would have taken his time admiring it. 

Now, he gets in and hits the gas before he’s finished putting on his seatbelt. He’s always been a heedless driver but now he speeds beyond his usual limits, passes cars where he can and drives too closely to those he can’t. It’s stupid and reckless and dangerous but Jean needs to be where Kevin is. He pulls up to the hospital with screeching tires and merely avoids running over a smoking Minyard standing outside of the entrance. 

“Where is he? Why are you out here?” Jean slams the car door shut, missing Minyards face only because Minyard takes a step back. 

Minyard takes a slow drag from his cigarette. “I’m smoking.”

“No shit. Where’s Kevin?”

“Getting a CT scan.” 

“And?” He understands the need to play games, is guilty of it himself a lot, but there’s a time and a place for it. “I’m not going to play twenty questions with you about this.” 

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. You asked where he was, I answered.” Jean studies Minyard’s slouching posture, his heavy eyes. If the stories he has heard about Minyard are anything to go by, he is not the type to go quietly. He wouldn’t be out here, looking half dead, if anything about Kevin suggested there was cause for worry.

Jean sighs. “Right, I get it.” He lights a cigarette, then flicks the lighter on and off again, a nervous habit he was never able to shake. 

They stand side by side, smoking in silence. Jean looks at his phone, and sees that it has only been three minutes since he last checked it. He puts it back in his pocket. 

Takes it out again. Four minutes.

“Was he awake? When you were in the –”  _ the ambulance _ . The word gets stuck in his throat, bringing with it mental images of Kevin’s lifeless body as the driver speeds from the stadium to the hospital. “I know you don’t like me, but at least tell me if I should be worried.”

“I don’t care enough about you to dislike you.” Minyard still sounds bored, and the façade he’s trying so hard to preserve is ridiculous. 

“But you care about Kevin,” Jean snaps, because he isn’t interested in standing here and pretending like the both of them aren’t here for the same reason. His heart aches. If anything happens, Kevin’s last memory of him will be of their fight, and all the stupid shit he said. 

Minyard drops his cigarette and deliberately stomps it out. Without missing a beat, he brings out his pack and lights another one. He inclines his head. It’s enough for Jean to see it as the reluctant agreement that it is. “I know him well enough to know that he’s an awful judge of character.”

“I’m well aware,” Jean says with a pointed look. 

“Are you?” Minyard gestures at him with the cigarette, making some ashes fall from the glowing end. “Or has the bliss of nostalgia blinded the both of you?” 

It feels like a challenge. “I’m not as bad for him as you seem to think I am,” he says, and Minyard’s reply is quick and venomous.

“Prove it.” 

“Excuse me.” A loud, old voice calls out behind them. It belongs to a nurse, walking out of the hospital entrance towards them and looking like she’s about to scold a child for eating the last cookie. “This is a hospital. Smoking is strictly prohibited, do you understand?” 

Jean swallows his pride and mumbles an apology, making a point out of putting his cigarette out, because there is no way Minyard is going to do it. It’s enough to make her voice soften, even if her face still looks stern. 

“You’re here with Mr. Day, right? He’s back in his room now, if you want to see him.” She’s speaking to Minyard, who flicks his cigarette onto the ground and follows her inside. Jean hurries after, already trying to think of the best way to convince her to let him into the room as well. 

  
  
  


While the nurse leads them through the hospital hallways she throws a look at Jean. “And you are?” 

“Jean Moreau.” He gears up for his speech while she taps on the tablet.

“Jean Moreau?” She butchers his name completely, not even looking up from the screen, but he nods anyway. “Alright. You’re listed as his boyfriend in the emergency contacts. Is that correct?” 

Jean stares at her. When he doesn’t instantly reply, annoyance creeps into her voice.

“I’m going to need verbal confirmation and some ID. We can’t just have anyone running around, especially not when the patient is a public figure.”

For a quick beat Jean wonders under what Minyard is listed. Then he’s brought back to reality, and starts digging for his wallet. “Right, of course, I mean, yes, I’m his boyfriend.” 

The nurse nods, studying his ID carefully before handing it back. When she opens the door to Kevin’s room there’s an actual smile on her face. “Thanks, dear. Go on now,” she ushers them inside and closes the door behind them. 

The room is small and clinically bright. White walls, white sheets, Kevin’s black hair, like an ink stain on an empty canvas. He’s sitting up with his back against the headboard, but it isn’t the rigid posture Jean is used to. His shoulders are relaxed, head leaning against the wall behind the bed, and at the sound of them entering his eyes flicker open. 

“You’re here.” his voice is drowsy, probably from painkillers, but the French still slips off his tongue easily. For a second Jean forgets where they are, so caught up in the warmth that envelopes his heart that he smiles.

“Apparently I’m your emergency contact,” he says, and fights the urge to reach out and touch Kevin’s hand, resting on the edge of the bed. “Now, please tell me how you’re doing, because I’ve had to force every word out of him.” He doesn’t gesture at Minyard, not even the slightest nod in his direction, but he trusts that Kevin understands anyway.

Kevin frowns and rubs his eyes. “They say I can’t play for a bit.” 

Jean suppresses a sigh. Not even pain meds seem to have an effect on Kevin’s one track mind. “Yeah, but did they say what’s wrong?” He gives in to the urge to touch and traces a finger along Kevin’s arm, right below the sleeve of the hospital robe. 

“Oh, yeah, they said the CT was clean. It’s just a concussion.” Kevin looks down on where Jean’s fingers are moving along his skin. There’s a flicker in his eyes, a momentary look in Minyard’s direction, then he reaches for Jean’s hand and takes it in his. 

Jean can’t help but let out a sigh of relief and entwines their hands. “I’m glad. That looked like a nasty fall.” 

Kevin hums, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Hurt, too.” 

Jean looks at Minyard, who is standing just inside of the door and is watching them with his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t ask for a recap, but Jean gives him one anyway. “The films were clean, he just has a concussion. He’s mainly annoyed that he'll be on bedrest for a while.” 

Minyard nods and uncrosses his arms. He fishes a phone out of his pocket and makes a call.

“He’s fine,” he says without preamble to the person picking up. Then “no” and “yes” and “no” again. After a bit he hangs up, without saying goodbye. 

“Neil?” Kevin blinks his eyes open and looks at Minyard, Jean’s hand still resting in his own. 

“Yes,” Minyard says, “I let him know he doesn’t get to inherit your racquet yet.” 

The almost-laughter Kevin lets out is more akin to a sharp breath. “Tell him I’ll still make it to the Little League Coaching Event.”

“Careful, lest you get crushed under the weight of your optimism.” Jean isn’t sure how to interpret the look the two of them exchange, but Kevin’s grip on his hand tightens, just a little.

Whatever it means to the two of them, it makes Minyard turn around and walk towards the door. Before fully leaving Minyard looks back at Jean giving him a simple nod. 

The door shuts behind him, leaving Jean and Kevin with a silence that is at once uncomfortable. Without the urgency and worry, their last conversation forces its way to the front of Jean’s mind. After what feels like forever, he takes a deep breath and lets go of Kevin’s hand.

“So, you listed me as your boyfriend?” he says, and sits down on the bed next to him. 

“Aren’t you?” Sometimes talking to Kevin is like talking to a particularly stubborn child. While the behavior was more prominent in the Nest, Jean has never been so aware of it as he is now. Maybe it’s the years with the Trojans, easing him into the ebb and flow of normal conversation, or maybe it’s that he has never needed Kevin to fully understand him as much as he does now. 

“Last time we talked it didn’t sound like it.” 

“Because we were fighting,” he says, and it makes Jean want to scream. 

“Doesn’t that bother you? We never used to fight before.” He throws his hands up in exasperation.

“Only because we couldn’t afford to argue out loud.” Kevin reaches out to Jean, aborting Jean’s movements and grasping Jean’s hand in his. He rubs over it with his thumb. “Isn’t it kind of nice to be able to now?”

“I don’t know about nice but,” Jean thinks back on his conversation with Alvarez. “I’d take fighting with you over not having you in my life.” It’s as if his body moves in accordance with his words and he finds himself leaning closer to Kevin. 

When they’re this close it’s easy to make out the bags beneath his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks. When he’s on magazine covers he’s all smooth skin, wide eyes, and sharp angles, but this is the version of him Jean wants to have by his side. 

“I’m yours if you want me to be.” 

“I do,” Jean says. The tip of his nose brushes against Kevin’s, and he isn’t sure who leans in first. All he knows is that Kevin’s green eyes get heavy as his breath ghosts over Jean’s lips.

“I want you too,” Kevin says, but there is no time for Jean to do more than acknowledge it before they’re kissing. Kevin’s hand, the one Jean isn’t clutching, grasps his shirt and tugs, and Jean allows himself to be pulled in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final kevjean songs of the day are closure by taylor swift and therapy by khalid

**Author's Note:**

> title from cwjbhn by jake scott and josie dunne. loosely inspired by sex (with my ex) by fletcher. also happy fuck trump day :^)
> 
> the entire thing is finished, if it all works out our plan is to do weekly updates <3


End file.
